Zone

ZoneThere is this special place
That a goalie can call his own
It is in a vacuum of concentration
Known only as…”the zone”.

It’s a place of reflex, and of clarityWhere any mistake is an extreme rarityWhere you are certain that you’ll be tough to beatWhere your blades feel sharp under your feetWhere all of the dekes are easily readWhere your every reaction is two steps aheadWhere you find every shot through any screenWhere you sense it coming when it’s sight unseenIt’s where every opening becomes a closed doorWhere a save, and a rebound, lead to one moreWhere, if they are lucky, they may hit the postWhere it’s a party for none, and you are the hostThey are in your house, and you are a wallAnd the little black disc looks like a huge ballYou find yourself there, and you don’t ask whyIt’s the place where slap shots will go to die

It is that perfect placeWhere a shutout is never blownThe land of thwarted opportunityKnown simply as…”the zone”.

The place where the elusive backhand is easy to followWhere victory draws nearer with every swallowWhere they purposely bump you and you don’t careWhere the blank scoresheet matches your blank stareA place where your confidence is at its peakWith a solid foundation, and nary a leak Where you manage to anticipate their every maneuver Where you are the Hoover Dam, and a damn Hoover
It’s where you’re never the goat and only a hero Where there are zero bad goals because the goal is zero It’s sixty or more minutes at the top of your game Where starter and stopper are one and the same
If you are there only once in your entire career You’ll remember that feeling and will hold it near You’ll remember sitting in the room, filled with pride With you and perfection, sitting side by sideIt is a uniquely sacred placeWhere the tender crouches aloneAccompanied by only his focusThe unholiest of places…”the zone”.